Always You
by Spooky Bibi
Summary: Jordan wanted to know what he was, Lydia wanted to help him find out. It seemed like a straightforward quest, if a long one. In the end it would get down to one night. One single night would unlock that secret and many more, one night would change their lives.


Jordan had dreams. That's what he called them anyway. They occurred at night while he was asleep therefore they were dreams. That was the logical explanation.

They would come back once a month, every month, like clockwork. For as long as he could remember, on the night of the full moon, without fail, Jordan would dream about himself.

Jordan Parrish as a soldier, which was not a stretch, except the equipment he used was outdated and his gun was old and felt foreign.

Jordan Parrish as a colonist, lonely and quiet in his cabin, nestled in what looked like Virginia.

Jordan Parrish as a blacksmith in rural England. No, more like Medieval England.

Jordan Parrish as a paramedic, with a questionable 80's haircut and a cute partner.

They were simple dreams, filled with even simpler moments. They were almost like playing out fantasies, as if he was living out what he couldn't. In a way, that was the point of dreaming, wasn't it? And were it not for the lightness and the peace he felt after each of them, for the intense feeling of truth they had, he would have chalked them off as just that, basic dreams. In a way, that's what he what if he could smell the old leather of his rustic belt, taste the char on the rabbit in his plate, feel the sandy texture of the examination gloves? They were just dreams. They had to be.

For a long time, months, years, he ignored them, didn't grant them any weight or importance. They were filled with strangely benign events, unsettling only by their hyper-realism but in the end they were just his weird thing. Everyone had one, like a nervous tick or a habit. He had these dreams only once a month. Could have been worse.

He felt even more vindicated once he learned about his powers and Scott's, about the pack. Talk about weirdness there. Going from simple human life to this whole underworld of supernatural creatures over the course of one day… His head was still reeling from it.

He was not the odd one anymore. Amidst werewolves, banshees, hunters and kanimas, one hard-to-kill deputy didn't stand out, even one with recurring dreams.

But they became more frequent. They were almost a daily occurrence and they would feel longer, more detailed, more… Important.

…

Lydia had nightmares, two kinds of them. Lately it'd been the regular kind, made up of haunting memories and a tired spirit. Nightmares about Peter killing her, about her friends dying and her being too late to stop it. Those were to be expected, given what her life had become these days.

The second kind was more seldom, more disturbing, and stemmed from earlier. It was the kind that she couldn't share, not with Allison, not with her mom, not with anyone. Since childhood, terrible dreams plagued her sleep, vivid horror stories.

They were always the same, yet different. They started very innocuous, with pleasant scenes of a life she didn't recognize. Mundane moments like a walk in the park, a tea with friends, a day on the job. Then a meeting, a gentle voice, nice eyes. Someone who loved her. Then, without fail, death. Always him first, sometimes she would be right behind. Always horrible, beyond painful, like having her soul ripped out of her body.

She would wake up from them with hands gripping the sheets, an icy sweat on her back and her heart rabbiting in her chest. And always that same sinking feeling, that she should have stopped it, that he was the most important person ever. That he was everything and she couldn't save him and she was left with nothing.

As horrifying they could get, as unsettled as they would make her, she would hide them from everyone. When she was younger it was out of fear, fear of failure. Then later on it was out of anger. Lydia Martin was no powerless princess, no damsel in distress. Her life wouldn't end because some guy's did.

They would frighten her nonetheless. When Jackson collapsed after Derek and Peter slashed him, she felt desperate and hopeless and she thought that was it. He was it, and they weren't dreams, they were real warnings. Lydia Martin was no hero. She was just there to be the girlfriend, and to weep over her lover's lifeless body. But he came back and she got over it. Then he left, and she got over that as well.

The dreams didn't follow him. They still came and went, still terrible and vivid, but she didn't let them break her resolve. She would cry at night, curled up in her bed, cry over a man with no name or face. But she would also get up in the morning, wash the dried tears away and move on.

…

"You're sure about this?" Jordan asked, leaning over the wheel to glance at the cabin. "This place…" he shook his head and let out a sigh. "I don't know Lydia, it's like something out of a horror movie."

Lydia stared as well and unbuckled her seatbelt, slowly. "Jordan," she sighed, "I told you, no I'm not sure about this. Just… Give me a second, okay?"

She closed her eyes and breathed in. In and out, long inhales that would help focus her mind, and slow exhales to quiet down her other senses. At that moment, she only needed to hear. The noise was in the background all the way there but once she lowered her guard, it flooded her ears. A loud crackling, whooshing, spluttering. A roaring fire, so loud that she thought for a second that she actually was in the middle of one. But no, her eyes opened only to see the dark and calm forest. It was all in her head, as usual.

"It's here." She flinched when a spark, loud and frightening, went off in her ears.

Jordan nodded and turned off the engine. "Okay," he said, and it sounded like a concession, making her sigh as well.

She felt his eyes on her, inquiring, but ignored the stare in favor of more deep breaths.

"You… Are you alright?"

With her attention turned inward, she barely registered his hand on her shoulder, light and concerned, like his question.

"I am," she replied flatly, gently brushing the hand away, along with a stray strand of hair. "It's just… Really loud now, it's almost overwhelming... But it's definitely here."

She got out of the car and took a few steps towards the small house. With a little effort and determination, she managed to mute the cacophony in her head, enough to pay attention to her surroundings. A clearing that could use some help before being called that, ominous trees covering the sky and a small but seemingly sturdy little wood house.

"It seems well maintained, for an abandoned building," she commented. Jordan was by her side when she turned around, appearing out of nowhere. Or maybe it seemed so because the task at hand, the weight of it on her mind, was already making her distracted. She smiled her surprise away and tugged on the front of his jacket. "Let's do this, shall we?"

"Let's."

He grabbed the bags on the back seat, she retrieved her purse and the wooden box and they headed for the front door.

"Did Danny tell you anything, besides to come here?" Jordan wondered.

She shook her head. The lock was old and rusty, and only gave way to the key after a couple of rough jiggles. "No, but…" she grunted and put her weight into the door. Nothing moved. She took a step back, annoyed. "Damn this," she muttered. "No but it's Danny. That boy seems to know everything and manages to keep it all to himself. It's like he's related to Deaton and not just working with him. I'm surprised he went as far as telling me about this place." She planted her feet in the ground and pushed with both hands on the door.

"Let me…" Jordan moved behind her, swinging the bags from one hand to the other.

"I'm fine, I don't need-" Their hands met on the wooden surface and she stopped breathing, and talking. A flash in her eyes and a strike of electricity coursed through her arm, pushing her to step away. As soon as she did the barrier broke and she was left with nothing more than a tingling in her fingertips and a strange, pleasant taste in the back on her mouth.

"I don't need help," she whispered, her voice coarse. As if on cue the door creaked open and she smiled, wobbly. "See?"

"I do, yes."

…

Jordan took a couple of careful steps inside, his eyes searching the obscured room for any sign of danger. Force of habit. Nothing to see. A open space, a basic kitchen in one corner, a large bed complete with an old-fashioned duvet in the other. One part of the room was closed off, a bathroom he presumed. He hoped it was decently clean, and recent.

"It really is abandoned," he commented. Point made by dropping his bag on the kitchen table and making a cloud of fine dust rise in the air. He frowned, that didn't bode well. "God I hope this place has running water at least…" he mumbled to himself.

"So..." He turned around to find Lydia still poised at the entrance. "You make me drive across the county to this place buried in the woods and now you won't come in? We have permission right?" He paused. "Not that it stopped you before," he added with a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. Their first meeting had always been a happy memory. The part up until they found frozen bodies at least.

"No, yes, sure we have permission, the key, everything." She wiggled the aforementioned key, somewhat distractedly.

"Lydia?" Jordan stepped back towards her but she raised her hand.

"I'm fine. Just… It's silent now, it's weird." She frowned and closed the door behind her. "Complete silence. In here anyway," she added, lightly touching her the side of her head with her index and a helpless smile.

"And that's… good. Isn't it?" A cold film of sweat was all but ready to form on his forehead. They didn't know what he was or what he could do but Lydia… They all knew about her abilities. Jordan learned about them quickly too. When she would talk about noises, or lack of them, it was better to listen.

He searched her face for an answer, one she gave with the slightest smile.

"Sure. Of course."

"Great. Now… Can I know exactly why we're here?"

She shrugged and hauled her bag onto the bed. "We're going to find out what you are, once and for all," she said decidedly, unzipping the front pocket.

…

It took a year for them to get there, so close to an actual answer. It had been a long journey that started with the bestiary and ended with Danny, of all people.

They had hope and enthusiasm, at first. The bestiary was a mine of information and lead to interesting theories. But that was what they remained - theories. As they read and explored the pages, they found points that matched Jordan in one way or another, but not one creature matched him entirely. Nothing fit, despite a couple of points that seemed to resonate with him.

But despite a growing list of capacities (strength, endurance, precognition), they could not find one answer. Faes, weres of all kinds, witches, every creature was eliminated one after the other. Eventually the book had been read, one cover to the other. Eventually the evenings, spent around a table with only a little lamp and a laptop to light the room, they came to an end.

Jordan spent his days off and nights home mostly alone, trying to have a normal life. He went out with the other deputies after work, he watched a couple of games with Derek at his loft, trying out for a friendship, but most of the time he stayed at home. Not thinking about a college freshman, a genius with big eyes and hair that wouldn't quit.

It wasn't right. She was too young, too smart, too beautiful and passionate for him. She was just trying to help a friend, like she would anyone else in the pack. So what they if they would fit so well, him being the analytical one, her being the researcher, the explorer? With each new theory it was apparent, that he was the reason to her creativity, a balancing act that lead him to imagine more. A very dangerous train of thought he stopped early on. It was an association, almost a business partnership. Nothing more. He needed to remember that.

But after several months of silence, one Thursday of July, she showed up at his door with luggage, a weird wooden suitcase and a very tight timeline.

"We have to go, now. For at least a night, so pack a bag," she asked, no, demanded.

He stared, dumbstruck, barefoot and with his toothbrush hanging from a corner of his mouth. Just for a second. Faced with the imperious presence of Lydia, what could he do but nod and start looking around for his things?

She said nothing to clear up the situation once he was ready, or when they got into his truck. Only that they should use his car because it was more geared for the road ahead than her sedan. That was all she said after retrieving the GPS from her own car.

From then it was a long drive through trails and barely traced roads. She gave directions, her eyes flitting from the GPS and a crude map in a notebook on her lap, that was it. With some work, he pried a few crumbs of information. They were going to Danny's old family cabin. It had to be that night because of the full moon. She would explain more once they got there.

He really should have pushed for more details but… It was Lydia, a friend, the wisest woman he'd ever met, the most resilient too. It warranted that trust. With her announcement once they were inside, she proved him right.

…

"Last time… Last time we tried to do that, we just kept hitting walls."

She nodded. "I know, but I've thought of… another approach." She put the suitcase on the table, ran a gentle hand across the top of it before opening it. She pulled out two leather pouches and what looked like a couple of metallic pendants. "But first, we need to set this place up."

She handed him one of the bags. "This is mountain ash, mixed with iron dust. Deaton prepped it, he said it should prevent any and all creatures from coming in. Even the ones like us, unaffected by regular mountain ash. They've been dabbling into different lores. Turns out iron has more supernatural properties than we thought. We hadn't looked at Asian myths."

He examined the mixture, the black dust with specks of silver shimmering through it as he made it flow from his fingers. "What about us leaving? Won't it trap us inside?"

"No. We're the ones spreading it, with our own spark. Deaton said it should give us enough power over it to break the seal and get out. When we would need to."

"Fortunate," he said. "You expect a lot of supernatural visitors tonight?"

She waved her hand, dismissively, and grabbed the second bag. "Full moon, it's Beacon Hills County, better safe than sorry. And we're not just poring over books now, we're on site, who knows what might happen. I'm not taking any chances." She looked up with determination. "Not anymore."

"On site?"

"In a minute." She glanced outside, through the dirty glass that was barely illuminated by the setting sun. "It's going to be dark soon, we need to do this right away." She pushed him outside imperiously, and directed him. "A steady line, all around the house. We'll meet in the back."

She took care of the west side, he walked along the east one, and together they sealed the house in a circle of black ashes. He nearly bumped into her as they made the lines superimpose. Their hands did brush and a similar blush appeared on their faces.

"We give it a try?" she asked with a self-explanatory wave. "Just to be sure."

They crouched, side by side, and without the need for a countdown they moved over the line and instantly broke it.

"So it does work," Jordan said and was rewarded with an adorable look of exasperation for stating the obvious. As an apology he dipped his hand in the bag and sprinkled some more ash to reform the line. "Sorry."

"Okay so that's done," Jordan said after a minute pause, wiping his hand on his jeans. "After you," he added with a gentle nod. He breathed out, slow and careful, and looked around as they walked back. The woods were silent, eerily so for the twilight hour, and not a movement in sight, no matter how far between the trees he looked.

"I don't like this," he whispered to himself. A look up didn't help. If anything the dreadful feeling was setting in the pit of his stomach more securely at the sight of curled clouds, lined with dark grey and black.

"Neither do I, but it's our best shot, apparently, and we should be fine. So he said," Lydia threw over her shoulder.

"If you say so," he conceded, but she wasn't staring at the sky like him, and she was clearly not feeling the cold underlining the wind.

…

The cabin seemed quieter, once the door closed behind them. "The plan for the night?" he said, clearly to break the silence. His forced enthusiasm almost made her cringe and she busied herself with her bag, just to have something to do with her hands.

"We can eat, then we talk, there's a lot to discuss, apparently. That's pretty much it." In theory. She didn't want to admit that while she did have some research done and some possible theories to discuss for the most part… She had no clue what to do, or what to expect from the night.

"And that required us to come here, and spend the night? By the way…"

She felt her cheeks heat up. He didn't have to point it out but there was only one bed in the room. It was obvious, obnoxious, a little embarrassing. Inappropriate, in its temptation, its innuendo, and timing.

"I know," she replied hurriedly. "We won't necessarily sleep," and her face grew a darker shade of crimson at the involuntary insinuation, no matter how much she chastised herself, "but I packed an inflatable mattress all the same, and extra blankets. For you or me."

"Oh you take the bed, of course."

"Of course," she echoed, a shy smile on her face. Jordan, ever the chivalrous man. She had learned to appreciate this quality in him, maybe too much for her liking. Too much for a woman who valued her independence and who couldn't consider him as… Anything but a friend.

"But we're not there yet."

First her growling stomach reminded her that lunch was hours ago, so she pulled a couple of subs and two bottles of iced tea from her bag. "Got you the green, unsweetened kind," she said as she put their makeshift dinner on the table. "You like it, if I remember correctly."

"I… Thank you. I didn't expect you to remember my order."

"It's rather unusual for a deputy to eat this healthy stuff, from what I've learned, so it stuck with me."

It was the truth and a banal explanation yet she felt even more self-conscious, as if she had revealed a secret by having his favorite drink memorized.

 _Get a grip, Lydia, you're acting like a blushing schoolgirl_. Which, come to think of it, she actually was but she was stronger and more mature than that. Usually.

It didn't help when Jordan found an oil lamp in a cupboard and put it on the table, creating at once an intimate and romantic atmosphere.

"There's a storm coming, outside. I don't trust the electricity in here," he said, and she nodded in silence.

She pushed the wooden box away, that was for later, and sat primly next to him, fingers daintily removing the wrapper of her sandwich. She was then hit by an overwhelming feeling of familiarity, so strong it made her stomach churn and her vision blur. Not just a memory. No, more like...

"Déjà vu..." she murmured. Her hand fell to her side. "What the..."

She could see it, with extreme clarity. A moment, insignificant, in one of her recurring nightmares. Insignificant because it was part of the intro, the stupidly perfect and happy part.

 _Her perched in the cabin of a truck of some kind, one foot on the dashboard, carefully unwrapping a sub. "Of course I remembered. Not one of us eats this healthy, as contradictory as it sounds. So it stuck with me. Is it any good? I never tasted it, looked too green for me. Come on," and she nudged his leg with her foot, "let me taste. I want to confirm it's awful." Then a laugh, shared with him. She smiled brightly. "I'm keeping my feet up until you give me so-"_

 _Her sentence cut short by a sweet little kiss that tasted liked ginger and mint._

 _"Awful, right?" he asked, pulling away immediately._

 _Her eyes remained closed, her lips etching a playful smile. "I could learn to like it," she said. Her hand searched for his shirt to pull him back, just as the radio crackled._

 _"Medic 34 we have a head-on collision on 6th and Ventura, please respond."_

 _She grabbed the CB. "Medic 34, we're en route, over and out." She sat back up as he turned the engine on and smiled at him "After."_

"What? Lydia?" He reached out, his hand got dangerously close to hers...

She busied herself with her food, picking out the stray strands of lettuce and putting them back in place on top. Hands occupied, safe. "I'm fine, I just had a thought, like a memory, like…" She cleared her throat. "Like we've had this conversation before. But we haven't, of course, it's just... Another weird thing with me." She finished with a sigh, a resigned bite and more avoidance in her eyes.

"It's not that weird, trust me."

…

They ate in silence, exchanging glances and timid smiles and listening to the growing wind outside.

"It sounds like you were right," she said after a while. "It does sound like a storm."

"You think the barrier will hold?" So far there had been no sign of danger, besides the weather, but Lydia was never careful without reason and he'd rather know they were safe. That _she_ was safe.

"It should," she replied. She balled up the cellophane bits, all that was left of their dinner, and played with the result for a second. "Deaton wouldn't give me something that flimsy."

The first droplets of rain chose that moment to start to fall, pinging against the glass. "Let's hope you're right. So…" He wiped his mouth and hands and added the napkin to the small pile of wrappings. "Deaton? Danny? How come they got involved, why did they decide to help? You asked them?

She blushed again and again he forced himself to not focus on her cheeks, or her mouth, but just her words.

"I did. We were stumped and I got tired of it. But… Deaton was helpful, and not. He... He likes to be cryptic, Stiles says he's like Yoda." She scoffed. "It's nerdy but it's true. Anyway, he said we needed the right set of circumstances," she said with a sneer. "Hence the location, the amulets, the specific night."

"Amulets?"

She reached for the wooden box he had forgotten about, and opened it carefully. "These," she said, producing two misshaped metal pieces. "I told you they were exploring different lores? Well Kira has been digging into different Asian cultures and found some interesting practices. These are thokchas. Tibetan charms, if you will."

He picked the closest one and examined it. A thick piece of tarnished metal, resembling a creature.

"I like it," he said as he weighed it up. It sat nicely in the palm of his hand, with a comforting heaviness and warmth. "What are they made of?"

"Usually meteoritic materials, or just plain metal when meteors aren't available. These were made by Kira. Thokchas literally means thunderbolt iron so… I'll let you guess how those came to be."

"Cool," he said, still toying with the little charm. "They can help?"

"They are believed to focus energy and reveal truths," she said with a shrug. The second amulet stayed on the table, untouched and he wished she would just pick it up.

Why it mattered, he had no idea, but he flicked it closer to her all the same.

"This one's yours."

"I guess." She ignored it, instead got up to throw away the remnants of their dinner and retrieve a large notebook from her bag.

He hid his baseless disappointment, traded it for a nice, friendly smile when she returned to the table.

"Here we have a summary of all our research. I scrapped the theories that lead nowhere but kept the starting points and the basic elements we figured out."

"I thought you had… Didn't we have all of that on your laptop?" He flipped through the book. A lot of tidy notes, graphs, charts, lists. Neat, organized and elaborate research, the result of their work.

She removed it from his grasp. "I don't know, it felt right to write it all down. Sometimes it feels more real than a random file on a computer, you know?"

"It's old school. Hey, I didn't say it was bad," he added quickly, in response to an icy stare. Their eyes locked and for the briefest second Jordan feared for his safety. But her face lit up and she shook her curls with a quiet laugh.

"I'm on edge, never mind," she said.

He chose to do just that. "And what are we supposed to do exactly? I mean, this," and he nodded towards the notebook, "is just what we have so far, right? Nothing new."

For some reason he didn't like the idea of her moving this forward without him. It used to be their thing. It still was. That's why she sought him out again.

"Nothing new," she confirmed. "I don't know what we're supposed to do. I mean, they didn't tell me precisely. Deaton told me that I had all the pieces, just not the right order. Danny, well he gave me the key and he said we needed a push, a spark."

Jordan sighed and rubbed the back of his tense neck. "What, we need Stiles? Or Danny himself?"

The comment brought out an ironic smile to her face "That's what I said and he laughed. He thought that was really funny. No, he said we needed a perfect storm and that it would be clear then. He gave me _a look at the big picture speech_ , essentially."

"Hence the book," Jordan added. "But why did he suggest this place?"

"The currents. It's sitting on the biggest convergence of telluric currents in the county. They say they make Beacon Hills the supernatural place it is. If there is a place for a perfect storm, for people like us, it's here."

He nodded. "Right."

Location was important. He knew that much. The right moment, sure, but the right place? In Afghanistan it was all that mattered, maybe it was the same thing here.

"So I followed their advice," she continued, pulling him out of a dangerous memory before it settled. "I've been doing some reviewing, of what we have found so far. Putting pieces together."

"What few pieces we have."

"Yes. But we have more than we imagined. I'm thinking, with what they told me, that we just need to ask ourselves the right questions. The answers are all in there and with the right setting, we could have our breakthrough."

 _Our_. He tried to not smile, he really did. It didn't matter, she couldn't notice, already deep into the book, glancing at the notes, nibbling at her lip while she read.

He was the one staring, once again. Watching her replace a stray strand of hair, flick through the pages with her index finger.

 _Snap out of it_.

He did, with a sigh and a stretch of his arms. Tonight was about work, not his pointless crush.

"Fine." He scooted closer, ignored the flush creeping on his cheeks and prayed that in the faded light she couldn't see it. "Go ahead."

"What do we know so far? Let's start with location. You said you were drawn here. By the Nemeton, or Beacon Hills. Something. What did it feel like?"

He looked down at the table. It was a while ago, seemed like forever considering everything that happened since the first tingling in his feet, the first tugging at the pit of his stomach made him put in for a transfer. With a couple of seconds of silence, of recollection, he managed to dig up the sensation. Calm, comfort, like…

"Like... It was where I was meant to be," he said slowly. Eyes closed, he recalled the memory, basked in it for a second. Even just the ride to Beacon Hills felt different. "Right. Natural," he added. Opening his eyes he found her smiling warmly at him.

"Like being homeward bound." She broke the look and reached into the bag to grab a pen. "That could be the currents as well," she said, scribbling a note in the margin of the page titled _Beacon Hills._

"Yeah."

"Okay so then home is Beacon Hills, for your supernatural persona, at least. You, human Jordan Parrish, I don't know." A twirl of the pen and she returned her attention to him.

The question was hanging in the air, heavier than he liked. For all their investigation, all those nights focusing on him, they never really delved into his personal history. But maybe it was the right time. The right place. The right person to open up to as well.

"San Francisco, that was home, before." he said. "I didn't wander that far from there after all."

Her stare was curious but not invasive, yet he didn't risk glancing back at her too much. Her voice was enough of a guide to focus on.

"West Coast is home then, no matter how you see it. But something pulled you here, specifically." She paused and he waited for her to imagine what the next question should be.

"So it has to be something important. More important than anything. More important than your job, your family, your childhood roots and everything else..."

He listened to her listing, until the answer popped into his mind, making him chuckle. "Usually there's only love that makes someone do that," he said. He rubbed his hands together. The chuckle died on his lips. "Or duty."

"Which one was it for you, do you think?"

He shook his head, hands balling into fists in spite of himself. "Duty pulled me overseas. I don't see what good a soldier could do in Beacon Hills."

Duty was his motivation for enrolling, and it didn't feel right. Never did, even if he was the perfect soldier, they said.

"And love?" she asked.

He wondered if the higher pitch of her voice meant anything.

"There were a few girls a while ago. Nothing serious, nothing that lasted. It's the way it is, when you're in the army. I never... I never let it go very far, just in case. I didn't want to be someone's tragic love story."

"Was... Did one of them... Did _you_ have one? Someone who could have ended up here?"

He shook his head, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "No. They were all amicable breakups, nothing of the kind of what you're thinking. Unlike almost everyone here, no such tragedy in my past."

"Lucky you."

This time the tone was unmistakable, bitter and unfitting her.

"They still say it's better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all," he said with a coaxing lightness in his voice.

"I've loved and lost and it's... It left me with nothing, nothing but regret."

"Jackson."

He looked up, apologetic when faced with her slightly shocked face. "Derek talks about him sometimes, Stiles too. Stiles seems to hate him more than Derek, but neither have particularly nice things to say about him," he explained.

There was a long silence, stretching for so long he feared he'd crossed a line that he really shouldn't have. But when he examined her face, he found that she didn't seem angry, merely… Sad, wistful even.

"Jackson was a douchebag," she said with a sigh. "Through and through. But we loved each other, truly. At first I think we were together because we were supposed to, you know, the star athlete and the most popular girl..." She shrugged and he had to stop himself from wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

She continued, monotone. "When things started to change around here, Peter biting Scott, Jackson turning and being manipulated... We realized what we had was real. We were…" She scoffed. "We weren't even together then, but we knew we had something real. Not important enough for him, in the end, but it was real, and true."

She was avoiding his stare, hiding the tears and he made a point to look away when she wiped them away with an embarrassed chuckle.

"It was his loss," Jordan said softly. He couldn't say more, not without going too far yet again.

"I've been saying that ever since."

He smiled as if he fully believed her. But Stiles had told him more than just the long list of Jackson's deeds, had spoken about how much she'd been hurt with a fury barely contained. He couldn't tell her, but he knew.

"You've come up on top, and I'm sure he regrets his choice."

That much he could say and it seemed to please her, her smile grew more genuine at that comment.

"Now _that_ , I'm sure of," she said with a renewed sparkle in her eyes. "But enough about me. The matter at hand is you, mister."

He smiled back and pulled the notebook between them. "Okay ma'am. Back to work."

They leaned together over the notes, and read over the Beacon Hills information Lydia compiled. A comment or a note here and there, nothing more, but it was… familiar and comfortable.

"I've missed this," he whispered.

 _You_ , he wished he could say.

She gave him a smile, soft and bright, and pushed her hair away from her face. "Me too. I'm sorry I was distant lately."

"It's okay. You were figuring things out."

There was a silence preceding her reply. "Something like that."

…

Beacon Hills wasn't the answer. No matter how they looked at it, how deep they analyzed every aspect of the town, everybody in it, it didn't shed any light on what he was. Too many variables, too few meaningful links to him.

After an hour she declared it was time for a break and pushed her chair back. The seat was too hard and cold, she traded it for the plushy bed. Still sitting straight, legs crossed under her. This wasn't the time to lie down and relax. Too much to do, and even if the storm outside called for some cuddling under a blanket, she didn't let herself go. Just a short pause, trading the pen for the thokcha to have something to play with, maybe stretch her neck a few times. Barely a break, unfortunately it was enough for her mind to wander.

It was his fault, partly. He would pace the tiny cabin back and forth and it invited her attention. What could she do but follow him with her eyes, count the steps in her head, detail his profile?

It used to happen, before. When they were neck deep in research, in the library or his apartment, even sometimes in her room. She would drift away from the page and look at him, taking note of every detail, from the crease on his forehead to the way his mouth remained tight but never too severe. Then she would let herself dream, fantasize.

This one could be good, great even. This one, who looked at her with reverence, like she was a wise and beautiful queen, this one wouldn't leave her. This one, with his strength, wouldn't die on her. Maybe. Maybe she could, but she never made the move. She wanted to though.

Still, after months of separation, she felt the pull, the desire. She couldn't help it and sighed.

 _Look at yourself, Lydia. Isn't it kind of pathetic? The banshee, pining for an immortal?_

Wait. She straightened up on the bed, the amulet slipping from her grasp and getting lost in the duvet, feet slipping to the floor.

 _Immortal_. Where was that coming from? He wasn't... except he could be. He survived being set on fire. That could certainly qualify him for immortality. And she was a harbinger of death, that couldn't be a coincidence.

She stared at him, slowly getting up. He snapped out of his mindless pacing and stared back.

"Lydia? What is it"

" _Only you can solve this_ , he said." She licked her lips. Just a small pause to process the thoughts in her mind. "I thought he meant because I'm the most tenacious, the smartest. Because I know what it's like to not know what you are. But actually, maybe I can do this because of what I am. I'm the key. I call death and you can't die. There's something there, don't you think?"

He sat back at the table, his eyes still trained on her. "Could be."

"I think so too." Suddenly more excited by the prospect of a breakthrough, she jumped to her feet and returned to the table as well, reclaiming her seat right next to him. She grabbed the pen and started a new page _. Immortal vs Banshee_.

"Our powers are connected then" he said thoughtfully. "It makes sense. Could explain why I'm drawn to you."

She looked up at him, with the bright light of hope in her eyes. She shouldn't mention it but she couldn't let it go. "You're...drawn to me?"

Suddenly the grain of the table seemed to hold a lot of interest for Jordan, who wouldn't take his eyes off of it. The air in the cabin seemed heavier, while the rumbling outside intensified.

"You're Lydia Martin, isn't everyone drawn to you?" The reply sounded strange, too light for the moment.

 _What else were you expecting?_ she thought. But a small part of her brain refused to quit the subject.

"That's a lame attempt to deviate from the point and no," she retorted. "Not lately, not since I've become a banshee. I have a _reputation_ , remember?"

He shrugged, eyes flicking up to her. "I don't… I don't see why people would mind, and I'm sorry for that comment, you know."

She rolled her eyes, gracefully, and smiled at him. "I don't hold it against you anymore, you know that. Stop it."

"Fine." He chewed on his bottom lip for a second and she found herself compelled to watch the movement of his mouth.

"We're compatible then," he said, making her snap out of her reverie.

"I guess, yeah," she whispered. Her hand holding the pen became the focus of her stare. It was safer that way, better than watching Jordan. "So what does that tell us?" she asked with a sigh.

He didn't answer. She ran her free hand through her curls, left them there for a second to lift the hair from her neck and cool her down. The humidity was starting to get to her. That's how she'd like to explain her flushed state. A lie to herself.

She knew the easy answer, the one a part of her was screaming to confess. It was telling her that they should be together. Obviously.

"I…" She let her voice trail off. No. She couldn't say it.

"Yes?" His voice was heavy with expectation and she briefly closed her eyes, let herself enjoy it for a second. It sounded so nice.

Why not? Why not just let it all go, throw care to the wind and take the plunge? He wanted it too, probably. She didn't imagine the looks, the long silences during their nights of research.

She knew why she held back. The same reason those nights happened in the first place. They might be connected at a deeper level but the first thing they ever had in common, the first thing that brought them together was the unknown. She knew the fear, the stress, the loneliness that came with figuring out what you are. It was more critical than any romance. While she was past that search, he was just starting it and she couldn't, in good conscience, disrupt it.

"Nothing."

He didn't buy it, neither did she. But while he simply tensed and nodded curtly at her, falling silent at her side, she dwelled deeper into her mind, her thoughts about him.

"I didn't scream. When Haigh set your car on fire…I didn't scream," she whispered. She looked up, her bottom lip trembling slightly. "You rose from the fire. I didn't scream for you, I didn't call out for you, didn't feel your death. You died, but not really." Their eyes met and this time she didn't look away, even with the heat behind his stare. "You don't die. Or maybe you don't stop living, actually. Not a permanent death. No, reborn… from the ashes, and I knew it."

She didn't realize that she had leaned closer, their faces only inches apart. All she knew what that she had to examine his eyes from much closer, stare into the surprising depths of clear irises. The truth came to her at once and fell from her lips just as easily. "You're the Phoenix, Jordan. You're life, eternal and ever renewing."

She breathed in, slowly, and moved away even more slowly. "Of course," she added. "The Phoenix." The one creature born from the fire and always returning from it.

The cabin was suddenly illuminated by a bolt of lightning that took over the whole sky, immediately followed by an ear-splitting roll of thunder.

They both jumped on their seat, Lydia bumping into Jordan's shoulder. "Sorry," she breathed, holding to his arm on instinct.

"That was…perfectly timed," he said with a weak chuckle and no attempt to make her let go.

She did so herself, with a short laugh of her own. "I'd say."

"So…"

She shrugged and pushed her hair away. It was easier than talking. "We have our answer."

It sounded defeated to her own ears. It was the end. They knew what he was. Her counterpart, simple as that.

She wished he was more, but that was just selfishness on her part.

Another bolt of lightning illuminated the room, made her shiver and wrap her arms around herself. It also showed her his unsure expression.

…

The first outburst from Mother Nature outside was just the beginning and the storm quickly became out of control, beating against the window and making the walls shake in their weak foundations. It added a layer of darkness, intimate darkness to the mood. She didn't look frightened but he still felt the urge to go to her, to protect her and make her feel safe. Their eyes locked and didn't stray, thunder be damned.

He broke the spell with a rational question. Always the rational mind bringing him back.

"If I'm immortal, how come I get older?"

"There must be an explanation," she said. She shivered and tried to hide it with a shrug. "I wish I had my laptop so we could do some research. We know fire can't kill you, of course, since a phoenix comes from it. But something else might hurt you."

"That's not being immortal though. This doesn't work, it's just another theory that doesn't fit," he said, dejected.

Yet another one. Even with all that new help, the setting, the tools, their determination, it was another dead end.

"No, no this feels too right," she whispered, making him come back to the present. "We have to be on the right track," she said, turning to face him.

Outside the rumbling became stronger, rolls of thunder building up, a constant growling, like a roar. He paid no attention to it, tried to at least. Even if it was getting quite loud.

"Phoenix, reborn..." She nibbled on her bottom lip until she found the next logical step. "Maybe that's it. You get reborn, literally, every time you die."

He could have followed that same train of thought, was his attention not entirely focused her mouth.

"Past lives then," he said flatly, a second or two too late. He looked up and searched in her eyes for more details but she had a vague look on her face, like she was looking through him, beyond him.

"Could be," she breathed and a frown appeared.

"That's-" He let the rest of the sentence die on his lips. Past lives meant previous incarnations, other versions of himself...like in his dreams.

"So that's what they were," he said to himself.

"What?" Lydia had let him work it out and was once again going through her notes but his remark caught her attention. "What is what?"

"My dreams. I've been having these very vivid dreams since... as long as I can remember, and they were always about me but not really? Like me but in different settings." He shrugged and picked up the thokcha, which helped him find the right words after a few seconds of playing with it. It might have been simply his budding belief in its powers but it felt warm all of a sudden, almost a nice burn on the pad of his fingers. "They could be flashes, snippets of a previous life, right?" he wondered.

She put down her notebook and twirled the pen between her fingers, tapping it gently against her mouth.

"They could. Maybe they were just dreams but we should analyze them to be sure." Another frown and he almost reached to wipe it away.

"But let's do this methodically," she said. _First dream,_ she wrote and underlined it firmly.

"Go, tell me everything you remember about the oldest one."

He took a deep breath and tried to organize his thoughts as he exhaled very deliberately. "It's a little confusing, and mixed up. When I think about it, they seemed like separate lives but they never came to me in order. There are some that look like they are from a more recent past, I guess, and those ones are clearer. The details are easier to recall and more abundant."

"Try. We need a timeline, a starting point."

He tilted his head to the side, trying to catch her eyes. "Why?" They already had the answer, most of it. The dreams were a sideline mystery at best, just a peculiar aspect of him. They couldn't matter that much.

"I… I just want to make sure we're being thorough," she replied and the twitch of her lip told him all he needed to know. He watched her pick up the other amulet and fiddle with it, a confirmation.

His cheeks reddened and his fist closed around the small amulet, tightly. "You're-Are you lying to me?" he asked softly.

She bit her lip and shook her head. "No… I just… I need you to trust me on this Jordan. You have, so far, so just trust me and tell me about them?"

He looked at her, ready to take notes but with a face that showed turmoil, as distressed as the weather outside. She kept silent and he nodded, motioning for her to start taking notes.

He could never resist her, let alone when she was pleading. He knew how much it cost her, to come so close to begging.

"Fine. First one…" He closed his eyes and fiddled with the thokcha some more. "What I remember is kind of blurry. I think… I think it was in England. Like…during the Middle Ages."

"The Middle Ages spanned a thousand years. Can you be more specific?"

He sighed. "I'm a cop Lydia, not a historian, I'm not sure. Probably late, the language felt relatively familiar. I only dreamed that one a few times. I remember a small house, with a garden. I think I was a blacksmith. That's about it."

"Nothing else? No…no one else?"

"Not that I recall. But they were always very short dreams, where nothing much happened. "He heard her write down a few notes and trace another line.

"Okay, we'll come back to it later," she said, monotone. "Next."

It took longer than expected to tell her about all of them. The more he focused, the more he tried to remember while holding on to the charm (it most definitely was one, like a warm ember in his palm that ground him and illuminated his mind), the more details came back to him. Reporting them all, explaining the settings, the time period, the situations… It was like painting a very intricate picture every time.

The first few ones were small sketches. A few scenes of everyday life, almost always spent on his own. After England came the industrial dream, another faint one. He told her about what his life as a worker in a shoe factory had been, the harshness of the conditions emerging in the back of his mind and on his tongue, like acid. Then the one in Spain, where all he could remember were vineyards, as far as the eye could see. Then Virginia and his cabin, that was as tiny as the one they were in, but felt homey.

But the closer he got to the present, the more massive the lives seemed in his head. Years and years of information rose from his memory and the words tumbled out of his mouth like a long-winded story. But as he went on it felt like a need like he _had_ to describe all those years. Almost the entire First World War (which explained his unusual soldier attire), then, in even greater details, the final one. An EMT in the 80's. That one, when he put all the pieces together, he could almost remember entirely. Or at least the first 20-something years of it.

"I think that's it," he murmured tiredly. He opened his eyes, blinked when faced with the light after such a long while and rested his sight on his hands. While getting his bearings back, he took a few long breaths and noticed that the storm, while more quiet on the thunder front, was still going on. The flashes were occurring every few seconds, and the distinct scent of ozone was drafting inside.

There wasn't much that could be done about it. Driving back to town in this weather was one: not in the plans, and two: absolutely not recommended. He just hoped the cabin would hold the night.

"I can't think of anything else."

He closed his eyes again, too drained to be completely alert. "I-I need a minute."

"It's okay," she replied, very faintly. It was her first words in over an hour.

…

She too couldn't think of anything to say. The more Jordan had talked, the less steady Lydia's hand had become, and the harder it had been for her to breathe. She dropped the pen and looked down at her notes. She could barely make out the words she had written and the details of Jordan's dreams, recollections actually, were not recorded with their expected neatness. They were scribbles, all she could manage to jot down while freaking out.

A warranted freak out. There was a pattern to Jordan's dreams. Or rather to his lives. He had a tendency for solitary work, quiet lives, yet he would generally do a job that helped others, that would be some form of public service. Those similitudes jumped at her early on. But as he went on, in more depth, she found something else. Links, similarities.

He mentioned a life in Virginia, by a river that ran deep into the forest. She had dreamed of that river. A picnic on its bank. A landslide that happened so fast he didn't have time to get out of the house.

He talked on and on about the war, about how he would spend the long nights keeping watch and talking about life back home to stay hopeful and sane. She dreamed about that too, about this quiet village he described, the tea house she would go with her friends, the letters they would read on their own before sharing the smiles or the tears. He didn't mention anything that occurred after the war. She knew about the train that had derailed, full of soldiers headed back home. He didn't remember but she did.

She held her breath when he started talking about his last life. The most recent one, the most vivid one. Until then she wasn't completely sure, it could all had been a string of coincidences, or a banshee ability she didn't know about, the power to access other people's deaths. But it was only with him, and she was in those memories too.

He started describing San Francisco, his childhood during the sixties and seventies. When he moved on to college, health sciences, his internship as a paramedic with the city, elements she's seen dozens of time, and not just while she was sleeping…she knew.

When Jordan said they were compatible, he had no idea to what extent, because his dreams, they were also her nightmares. He had one part, the beginning, which made sense considering he was about rebirth. She had the end, his end, their end. Of course, what else was a banshee to see? But joined, it formed a complete story. Theirs.

When she thought they should be together, it was an understatement. They were meant to be, they'd always been.

The whisper in her mind was seductive, and true. _Soulmates_.

One word that summed it all up and explained everything. The unspoken, instant attraction they felt, the easy understanding between them. The fact that they always gravitated toward each other, always ended up paired up even if nothing justified it…

It was justified.

"I-I need a minute."

"It's okay," she blankly replied. She needed one too.

 _Soulmates_. Jackson wasn't her soulmate, and the man from her dreams wasn't faceless either, not anymore. She breathed out, shakily, and clung to the thokcha like a lifeline.

It was him. She risked a look in his direction and felt the wave of affection that she was so used to repress wash all over her, taking away the last ounce of breath she had. It was him, and he was right there next to her.

The realization started to fully sink in just as the storm picked up, sent an ear-splitting roll of thunder down that shook the cabin to its core.

She jumped to her feet, followed by Jordan. He asked her what was wrong but she couldn't hear him, not with the ruckus going on outside. The windows were pitch-dark but she could see that the rain had ceased, although it wasn't over.

She fumbled until she touched his hand and threaded their fingers together. Her other hand was closed tight around the amulet, so tight in fact that her knuckles were white. This wasn't some regular storm.

"It kept on getting worse ever since we started… Jordan-"

All the windows turned bright white and trembled. She swallowed back her next sentence and hid her face in his chest, his arm going naturally around her shoulders as he bent his head over her. The lightning was everywhere, crackling bolts coursing over the beams of the ceiling, down the walls and closing around them on the floor, impossibly electrifying the wood cabin.

She glanced down at the circle of blueish lights on the floor, inching towards them, pushing them together…

It was an instinctive reaction, a pure gut feeling and idea. She lifted her head, locked eyes with him.

"Kiss me."

...

"Kiss me."

The whole room was shaking, the electricity crackling all around them, tendrils of smoke rising from under the door. The fury of the elements attained new heights and nearly drowned her words. Nearly. He could still see her mouth move, could hear the words come out of those plump lips that had hypnotized him way too often in the past.

"Kiss me," she repeated urgently. Her hand held his in a death grip and she pulled him closer. Eyes glued to him, steadfast, confident, unwavering. How could he resist?

"What?" he heard himself say nevertheless, voice coarse and weak.

 _What are you doing? Kiss her._

She moved before he could listen to his own advice, taking the last step and pressing their mouths together. Her hands found their way to the back of his neck and held him in place as she deepened the kiss, trying to prevent him from leaving. As if he'd even consider it.

She was here, in his arms, after all this time, all the longing. It took him a mere second to recover from the surprise and kiss her back, with all the pent-up attraction of the past months. His hand reached for her hip, a perfect fit on the curve of her waist, and it was only natural to bury the other in her curls, like he'd dreamed to do so often.

 _"I… I l-love you, so-so much." He reached up, and the few inches felt like a mile, the way his shoulder hurt. Every breath was labored and getting shorter and more difficult._ _Every nerve felt on fire, as they always did when he was with her, but unlike before they were alit by overwhelming pain_ _. He still tried to smile, still tried to tell her. Even with the blood filling up his lungs and making him cough._

 _"Don't talk," she sobbed. "You need to stay still and silent, please. I love you too, there, please don't talk. And stay with me," she whispered pleadingly. She pressed on the gaping wound in his side, hand slipping on the blood that was seeping through his clothes but still trying to stop the bleeding. Hopelessly. They both knew there was no stopping it in time._

 _He shook his head, slowly. His blurry vision wasn't enough to make him miss the tears in her eyes and he tentatively aimed for her cheek, to wipe the moisture and dirt that was there. Instead his shaky hand slipped and got lost in her hair. Bloodied, dirty and in all likelihood broken, it barely touched the strands but it was all the touch he needed, actually. She would always joke that he had a hair fetish._

He staggered backward, detaching himself from Lydia with much regret. But the memory was too strong, too overwhelming. Too painful, too real, to the point where he palmed his side, expecting to feel torn flesh and a fresh wound.

He didn't dream that. Well, he didn't in the past, but that flashback was part of his most recent dream. And also real, in another life. In one of _their_ past lives.

"I…" He stammered, took another breath and a step back. "It was you. In the ambulance. My partner." So many details were coming to his mind, the mosaic of all his previous dreams finally merging into a full story.

"We were on call," he said softly. "We were on call and there was an emergency, a heart attack at the convenience store nearby and… We ran the light and the semi hit us. On the driver's side. My side. The ambulance flipped over and… I died. In your arms, I died in your arms. It was you."

She looked at him, eyes wide and filled with tears and without a single hint of surprise in them. She quickly wiped her cheeks with the palm of her hand like a child would, disregarding makeup and grace. "I know," she whispered. She smiled. "I know, it's you. It's us. It's always been us."

"You-You knew?"

"Not before tonight, and I wasn't sure until just now. Jesus, Jordan… they were memories for me too. That's what Deaton wanted us to see. Together we have the complete story. Our story."

The words didn't seem to register. The room was crackling with bursts of lighting all around them, somehow not touching them. But the only safe place remaining beyond the space between them was the bed so he fell on it just as his knees buckled under him.

"Our story."

"Yes. Stories, actually. All of them, every time, it was us." She let out a breathless, teary laugh. "Jordan, we're soulmates."

…

She waited for a response that wasn't coming. Jordan looked stunned silent and immobile, sitting on the bed with his head hung low and his face paler than she's ever seen it.

"Jordan," she called, but he remained there, didn't even look up. She sat by him, carefully folding her legs underneath her and rested a hand on his knee. "Are you alright?"

Such a silly questions. After a revelation of this magnitude, he was allowed, hell, expected to freak out. It was a wonder she was so calm about it.

It couldn't be helped. She paid no mind to the storm going on outside and inside; even the weight of what they had discovered didn't seem to matter. All she could think about, all she was aware of, was the touch of his lips on hers, still lingering, the ghost feeling of his hands on her and the immense peace she'd felt as soon as they were kissing.

She really was the key - and to much more than just the secret to his origin. They were each other's past. They always had been. A reassuring warmth spread through her and she smiled, easily. His hand was right there, tensed on the edge of the bed. She covered it with her own, fitting her fingers between his. They slid in place without effort and she felt him squeeze back. One step closer to the inevitable endgame and the one she craved anyway.

She glanced around and saw the lightning inching closer, the circle of electricity getting smaller and smaller. She should have been afraid, it was so close to touching them, but she wasn't. She just pulled on his hand, made him turn his head towards her.

"Kiss me again, Jordan." With a soft palm on his cheek she guided him back. "Kiss me," and it was a request, a plea and an order all wrapped into two soft-spoken words. Her eyes even surer than her words, all she needed to do was to nod and he was leaning in, starting a kiss that was gentle but confident.

His lips gained in audacity and she breathed a sigh of relief that turned into a moan that was instantly muffled by his tongue slipping in her mouth and caressing hers. She pulled away for air, and rested her forehead against his.

"God I love you Jordan, I always did, I know it now." It slipped out before she could filter it.

"I love you too, even when I couldn't say it," he whispered back.

She wasn't paying attention to the lightning around them. Maybe she should have been more attentive, but nothing could have helped them when the ring closed in on them and struck them from every direction.

...

He didn't register any pain. Only her hands in his, her breath on his neck and the phantom sensation of needles prickling him all over. Jordan opened his eyes again and saw the last flickers of electricity die around them. His breath hitched in his throat as he scanned the room, noting the sudden calm and complete silence around them.

"Were we… Did we just get struck by lightning?" he asked, securing his hold around her. He cupped her chin and looked at her face attentively, not waiting for the answer. "Are you alright?"

She nodded slowly, and smiled. "I am, so right. And yes, I think we just were," she said. She squeezed his hand. "You? You're okay?"

"I…I am." He felt amazing, actually. Energized, as cliché as it sounded. Not a single inch of him hurt. "I can't believe that just happened," he said, shaking his head.

"Given what we found out, where we are… it's not the weirdest or most unexpected thing to happen to us." She scooted closer, her thumb rubbing over the back of his hand.

"I'll give you that one. But a thunderstorm synched to us, it's still pretty weird."

"You…you think they knew? Deaton, Danny, Kira? You think they sent us here, with these," he opened his hand to reveal the thokcha and its imprint in his hand, "because they knew what we would find?"

"Who knows?" She looked down and showed her own amulet in her palm. "Considering these, and the circumstances, maybe they had an inkling, but I'd like to believe we figured it out before them."

"We deserve that much credit," he agreed.

She dropped her thokcha in his palm, keeping her hand in his. Her small, soft hand stayed in his, fingers slotting together, and she pulled him along as she laid back on the bed.

"We deserve much more," she whispered, settling on her back. Her hold on him was strong and as she brought their joined hands up, forcing him to lean over her, he couldn't do anything but stare with wide eyes. She smiled and dropped a small kiss on his lips.

"A lot more," she continued, peppering feathery kisses along his jaw. The message was clear and his eyes drifted shut under her sweet assault. Yes, _more_ felt like a wonderful idea.

He brought his leg over her, gently, to find a better and more practical position. Once straddling her, it was easier to give her the kiss she was reaching for. His hands slid from hers, running the tip of his fingers down her arms, until he could slide them in her hair and bring her up to him.

This time the kiss was exactly what he wanted, what she wanted too. More. More frantic, more magical, more urgent and more intimate at the same time. His thumb found its place on her cheek, caressing it delicately and she let out the slightest happy sigh. He couldn't refrain from smiling, while never straying from her mouth.

He'd be content, perfectly content, to simply stay there forever, kissing the breath out of her. That didn't seem to be the case for her, because he found her hands sneaking under his shirt and deftly splaying across his stomach. He tensed from the surprise but her touch was light and teasing and he found himself moaning and canting for a closer contact.

She was just as responsive, turning her head with whispered _yes_ when he moved from her mouth to her neck. He didn't need any guidance or suggestions. He found her pulse point with ease, laved it with his tongue until she keened and whined, moved on to the spot behind her ear that drove her even wilder.

It was like he knew her buttons, her weak spots and maybe he did. No, he definitely did, he decided when biting on her earlobe made her gasp loudly and buck against him. He was simply remembering what worked for her. He let instinct dictate his moves but kept to her mouth and neck. She was the one that took it further, her foot sliding up and down his leg, both her hands getting bolder under his shirt. That is, until one of them snuck out.

He pulled away from her mouth, pausing for a second to admire how beautiful it looked in the low light. Glistening, plumped out and reddened by his kiss.

"You're…"

He heard rustling and glanced to his side. Her bag was pushed against wall, her hand buried in it and obviously searching for something. He stared until she finally took her hand out and produced a condom.

He let go of her completely and slinked back. "You… Really?"

It wasn't like he didn't want to, his jeans might be concealing his erection but he was very much aware of it. But…

"Yes, really," she said, her voice thick and husky. A siren's song. "Why not?" She tossed the foil packet to their side, the hand still under his shirt raking long fingernails up his torso.

He shivered and bit down on his lip. She was right. Not just because he wanted to as well but because any reason he could come up for why they shouldn't (she was too young, this was too fast) paled when compared to the actual situation. They were meant to be, he was meant to be with her.

 _So be with her._

She grabbed the back of his head and brought him back over her. "Really, Jordan. I love you, and I want you." She hooked her foot behind his knee and rolled her hips in a manner that left no place for doubt or uncertainty. That was enough to make him take the plunge and claim her mouth again in a ravaging kiss that she returned just as eagerly while her hands went to work on his belt. He pulled away for air and she immediately looked down and fumbled with his jeans some more.

"Now, come _on_ ," she breathed out, huffing when the zipper refused to cooperate. He grinned, kissed the top of her head and ran his hand along the neckline of her dress. One finger slipped under the flimsy material and teased the dip of her collarbone.

"No," she huffed. At last the jeans gave way and he felt her pushing them down with determination. "Don't, just…" she wiggled underneath him until her skirt was hiking up her hips.

"Lydia…" He pushed himself up on his elbows. He reached up, gently pushed away the hair from her face. Her eyes shot up to meet his. "I mean-"

She shook her head. "Later Jordan." Her foot climbed back up and finished getting rid of his pants. "We have all night, I just… Now…"

She looked at him, darker irises and blushing cheeks and he nodded, immediately understanding her. "Okay, okay," he whispered. He shifted his weight, ran his hand down her side and lifted the hem of her dress, bunching it at her waist.

"Yes, she breathed out, her hands back on him and pulling his briefs down.

His breathing, ragged and loud (to his own ears at least) became even more erratic when she got his cock out and started stroking it. His attempt to remove her panties became a pathetic fumble and he nearly fell on her.

"You gotta- give me a second there," he murmured, removing her hand and keeping it at safe distance on the bed. His cheeks felt on fire but she didn't say anything, just chuckled briefly and nodded, lifting her hips to help him along. She also picked up the condom and tore it open while he tossed her underwear to the side.

He took a long, steadying breath and closed his eyes. "Okay, I'm good." Not quite true, he felt already close to the edge, skin nearly vibrating. Then again it could be the same for her, could be the reason why she was already unrolling the condom on him, as fast and as adequately as she could in the small space she had between their bodies.

They both needed it right then. There would be time for more, for better, later. After all, they had their whole lives ahead of them for that.

His hand ran along the side of her thigh, dipped underneath and lifted until she followed his lead and wrapped her leg around his waist again. He wanted to reach higher, slide into her folds to caress her and make sure she was slick and ready. But before he could take charge any further, she beat him to it. She was already guiding him in, with a firm hand and an even firmer push of her foot on his ass. He only had time for a breathless kiss before she was engulfing him, throwing her head back with a loud moan the second he was fully inside of her.

"Yes, Jor-God yes…"

"Jesus-" he moaned, keeping still for a couple of seconds. She was too hot and tight around him, overwhelmingly so. Hands fisting the comforter, he pulled himself up slightly until he could reach her exposed throat. He let go of the blanket to stroke her cheek lightly. "Lydia?" he whispered. With his thumb on her chin he made her tilt her head down so he could look into her eyes again. He was shocked to find them almost completely black, her pupils fully blown and shiny. "You…" He wanted to ask her if she was alright, still there, still okay with this. A last reassurance before he would lose the last bit of self-control that could allow him to stop.

"It's perfect, you're perfect, don't worry just…" She groaned, cupped his face and kissed him voraciously. "Just take me, make me yours Jordan, come on…" she murmured against his cheek after they parted. Her hands cradled his face and she looked in his eyes, so deep he felt like she could read his mind.

He wouldn't put it past her, least of all at that moment, after that evening.

"I'm fine. Please…" She arched her back and he thrusted up, fulfilling her silent wish and sealing it with a searing kiss. From then on he was done, at her mercy, and he had no regret.

She brought her other leg up, effectively trapped him between her thighs and he could have wished for a more perfect entanglement. What began as a slow rhythm, him rolling his hips in deliberate, strong circles, soon turned into something more frantic. The constant pulling of her legs around him and of her hands roaming on his back imposed a faster pace. Always more, like she said earlier. He complied, fashioned his thrusts around the sound of her pants and moans.

It still wasn't enough, although he was just about to lose his mind. He bit his lip forcefully, closed his eyes and dove in for one more kiss. It demanded enough so that he would relax slightly, so that he wouldn't come undone. Not just yet, not if she wasn't on the edge with him. She pushed on his back. _Closer_ , she seemed to intimate and he let himself drop on top of her, his arm sneaking under her to pull her up. The new angle seemed to work for her, pressing their pelvises together so he would rub against her clit on every upstroke.

"Fuck, yes, yes, yes…" and her hands scrambled for purchase on his back.

Her words breathed in his ear, the unusual curse word, spurred him on, unexpectedly. Before long he found himself thrusting erratically.

"Lyd-Lydia…" he warned, his hand on her hip spasming against his will. The fire was spreading everywhere inside of him and he couldn't stop it, only rock into her harder, climb towards that inevitable fall a little faster.

"I'm close too," he heard her whisper back. "Just-a little more…"

He nodded, face buried in her neck, and kissed the salty skin there more fervently, while his free hand found its way under her dress and reached to cup her breast. It didn't take so much more as he expected, a few tweaks of her nipple, rolling and rubbing it hard with the pad of his thumb. She took a sharp, loud inhale of air and tensed up under him, her nails digging in his shoulder so deeply it made him wince.

"Jordan, yes, oh God, yes, right-" The rest of it was lost in a high-pitched moan that rang in his ears. He lifted his head just in time to watch her eyelids flutter shut, her mouth go lax and by then she was gone, coming hard with a silent scream.

Her walls clamped around his length and he only managed to bury himself into her warmth one more time before it became too much for him. His orgasm was as sudden and devastating as hers and he clung to her like she was his lifeline while he rode it out, gasping for air yet never moving his face away from her to breathe more easily. His mind went blank, his vision turned to nothing and for several seconds that seemed to stretch into forever, he lost all track of time and the world. Just pure pleasure and her, that was all he could feel.

When he came back, he felt her tremble under him, letting out soft, keening noises as the tightening around his cock subsided and faded completely. He helped her along with tiny presses of his lips along her throat, his hand under her dress gently caressing her skin on its way out. Helping her come down, silently, brought him back fully as well and made him able to talk again too.

"I…"

Not that he had actual words to say at that moment.

"I…" His voice was hoarse and he cleared his throat, angling his face away from her for a second. Turning back he found her gazing at him through her eyelashes, a lazy, cat-like smile playing on her lips. Beads of sweat crowned her forehead and shined on her upper lip and a few strands of hair were sticking to her temples. A minute of contemplation turned his feelings into something expressible again.

"My God you're gorgeous," he said with reverence, his hands travelling along the soft curve of her cheeks, wiping the sweat as they went. "More than in any dream of mine. More than in any past of ours."

Even if it was her in all of them, she'd never had that glow, that light, she couldn't have been that mesmerizing then. Impossible. So she was his new favorite Lydia, the flushed and brilliant picture of love. He kissed her softly, grinning when he felt her kiss back without any restraint.

"I'm sure I was just as beautiful then," she said, shuffling in his embrace. She let her legs fall open and playfully poked his shin with her toe. "You're just basking, and being silly," She threaded her fingers through his hair and to bring him down for a kiss and he didn't fight her.

"Maybe. But you _are_ gorgeous right now," he whispered.

She grinned. "I know. You are too, by the way."

His face turned even redder. "I love you," he said as his reply.

"I know that too."

…

It was a quiet and perfect moment, lazy and long kisses traded and enjoyed. Unfortunately, as much as they had forgotten about it, reality caught up with them. Despite their close proximity, the drafts of cool air coming from the windows and the door were making them shiver and eventually body heat wasn't cutting it. She tapped his shoulder lightly. "We need to move," she whispered.

He nodded and slid off her and the bed. She missed him, right the second he left her arms, but she knew he would soon be back and that thought warmed her at once. Turning to her side and sitting up, she slipped her dress over her head and dropped it on the bed. Her bra soon followed and she folded them quickly before putting them in her bag.

She heard him behind her, disposing of the condom and getting out of his clothes as well. The bed dipped under his weight as he lay down and brought the comforter over them. His hand reached out and touched her hip, softly. There wasn't any hesitance behind the gesture, she found that out when his fingers didn't stay there but rather gently explored her side.

She pushed the bag onto the floor by the head of the bed and turned back around to face him.

"Hi there," she said, her hand joining his in its dance up and down the curve of her hip. Fingers tangled and untangled without hurry and the goosebumps flared up under their little tango.

"Hey," he replied with a slight smile. His hand dipped down her back, teasing along the curve of her ass. She let him explore, raked a nail up the length of his arm in return, tracing the bicep and, once she got further, his firm pectoral.

The room was utterly silent saved for their regular, peaceful breathing. It wasn't uncomfortable or awkward in any way. No. At that moment, after the storm, the tension, their urgent first time... Everything felt in place and as it should be.

All things considered, it made sense and was even logical. Still it amazed her, to be able to stay there naked next to him, to see him in all his glory and be so at ease to have him looking back.

"It's… Do you feel it too?" she asked when she couldn't keep the thought to herself anymore. "How…"

"It's like we've made it, isn't it?" he said.

His thumb drew a path up her spine and she arched into his touch with an appreciative moan. "Yes," she sighed. It was hard to explain, to put into words, but she knew he understood and felt the same as she did. It didn't need to be said, the way he was staring back without any shyness, the decided way he was caressing her, now massaging her nape.

"I don't know if it's because I'm remembering it all more and more but it's like I can't be anything but completely comfortable with you. It's like we've been like this," he leaned and brushed his lips on hers, "a thousand times before."

She smiled and closed her eyes. "We probably have. So…" she sighed and inched closer to him, her foot inserting itself between his calves. "What do you remember now? Tell me."

She wanted to hear him connect the dots, join their memories like their lives had been, like their bodies just were.

"I remember your name was Pamela, in that last one. You hated it, especially when I would call you Pam."

She closed her eyes and recalled the memory, searching every corner of her mind for it. She didn't have to look very far, it was right there when he continued describing it, the little details.

"My apartment was on the first floor of a very dingy building so we moved into yours. It had a great view of downtown."

She nodded. "That was the reason I got it. Made me feel like I wasn't living in the city but over it." She scrunched her face, sifting through the many images that was suddenly flowing in. "We…it was your bed, though. You had the bigger bed."

"Yeah."

"It was a fantastic bed," she said with a grin. " _That_ I remember as well, now."

He chuckled and she felt his hand glide down to touch just the crease of her elbow. "I remember you were very ticklish right here…"

"No!" She squealed and backed up but he closed his legs around her foot, trapping her, and tickled her mercilessly. "Oh-God, no- you're the-worst," she panted, squirming under his attack.

He ended up on top of her, pinning her arms above her head, both breathless and giddy, the blankets thrown to the ground and them not caring about it in the slightest.

"I could have done without you finding out that about me," she breathed out.

He leaned over and whispered in her ear. "But I know so much now, and I want to know even more." His lips grazed the shell of her ear as he pulled away and she shivered not from the cold this time, on the contrary. She felt warmed up, from her head down to her toes.

"I want it, too," she said. Her hand relaxed in his grip and she threaded their fingers together. "You tell me more, and I'll fill in the gaps. You're doing the same for me, you know."

It would be great to know all the mundane details she didn't have in her dreams; it would help her ignore the endings. She wouldn't admit it, not yet, but she feared where their talk could lead.

"Then I'll tell you everything," he said before kissing her lightly. "We have time, right?"

She smiled and reached up for another kiss. "All night, and all the ones to come," she whispered. But she didn't want to talk anymore, not with him slotted against her like that.

"We've got a lot to talk about." She let go of his hands and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Even more to do, to catch up on."

Rocking her hips, she was pleased by the gasp that escaped his lips in response. "Don't you think?"

He kissed her with bruising force and that was all the agreement she needed.

…

He couldn't keep his mouth off her skin, couldn't stop going back to her mouth, those plump lips that tasted even better than all his fantasies. Couldn't stop marring her porcelain skin with nips that left rosy marks, couldn't get enough of her soft moans and learning what caused them.

Catching up indeed, but not with the initial frenzy, not anymore. With intent and loving curiosity he mapped her body with his hands and his mouth, listening to her every breath as he went, all the while doing his best to ignore his own arousal. Like she said, they had time and he had more need for discovering her than anything else.

As much as he remembered, the past couldn't compare to that moment, to the real thing. He found unbearably soft skin on her inner thighs that his fingers kept coming back to, breasts that responded to his every kiss and flicker of his tongue like a finely tuned instrument, and countless other spots that entranced him. He lost track of time and words but she reined him in, with her hands grabbing his shoulders and pulling him back up. She was breathless again, happily so and he felt an inordinate amount of pride that he had caused her such pleasure already, with mere teasing.

"No more teasing Jordan, please."

He brushed away the few strands of hair that stuck to her forehead, returned them to the fiery corolla spread around her face. "What do you want then?"

She bit her lip, then smiled. "Make love to me."

He smiled back, and did just that. Worshipped every inch of her, brought her to another intense (judging by her cries) climax with his tongue before lifting her onto his lap. She took charge like an enchantress, riding him slowly, rolling her hips, squeezing him, kissing the breath out of him. Making him feel completely lost in her.

So lost, in fact, that once he came down from the high sky she sent him to (and where she had joined him with a deep whine and a deeper imprint of her nails on his back), he didn't notice her fallout. He floated back to reality slowly and after a few minutes realized that she hadn't made a move, if anything she was holding on to him more strongly than ever. He caressed her hair, she turned her face towards the crook of his neck and he was shocked to realize she was crying, actually sobbing against his shoulder.

"Hey, hey, I've got you, I've got you," he whispered. He cupped her face, kissed her quivering lips tenderly. "Don't cry, I've got you, I'm right here." He kept peppering kisses on her lips and cheeks, wiping her tears as they were falling. "What's going on?"

Somehow he knew that those weren't tears of overwhelming pleasure. She was clinging to him and shaking her head but what she was whispering wasn't audible. Such a sudden disconnect, their bodies still warm from their lovemaking, her tears cold and brutal and completely distressing.

He quickly lifted her up, laid her down on the bed and left her there, just for a few seconds. He cleaned himself up haphazardly, discarded the condom and used tissues as discreetly as he could and returned with more tissues for her.

"Don't cry, Lydia," he pleaded. "Please, what's the matter, tell me."

She shook her head again but didn't push him away when he slid his arm around her and brought her close. He knew that she would never show such weakness, normally, but this wasn't a normal evening.

"You don't have to be ashamed or anything," he told her. "No matter what it is you can tell me. I love you, you can tell me anything." Very delicately, with hands that trembled as much as her, he wiped her cheeks, leaving a tissue in her hands that she immediately started to twist.

She choked back some tears and finally talked. "You died Jordan, so many times. In my dreams, that was all I could see. No," she took a shaky breath and continued, "that's not true. Actually I saw enough of the good stuff to make your death as painful as possible. Then you would die, every time, and I would see it all."

Her words caused a chill to run up his spine but he fought it off, jaw clenched.

"I'm right here. As alive as it gets. I'm right here. You have me, I have you, that's all you should think about," he said, with as much strength as he could muster. It wasn't easy. With each passing second he was comprehending more how terrible this must have been for her.

 _Never let her go._ _Never. You see how much she hurt. It wasn't just about you, she was connected as well and what she endured was so much worse than what you had to live with. Could you take it, seeing her die over and over again? Not a chance. So never let her go. Don't do this to her._

That was all he could think about. He couldn't cause her that kind of pain. She was looking down, refusing to meet his eyes, but he knew she was still crying.

"You have me now," he reminded her.

But what about later? What about years down the road, when age and life would catch up with them? Now that they knew about their past lives, about their connection... Now that they were aware, but also different this time, banshee and phoenix with actual, realized powers... Was she to see his death coming one day, the real one, and was he to be reborn and forget everything? Or worse, remember what he left behind that time?

Were they destined to replay the same scenario for all eternity? Longing for each other, finding each other, losing each other? Or were they on the final stretch of the road and after that...nothing? He knew that they had never found out about their bond in the past. It was the first time they knew about what they really were to each other; the first time it went beyond the simple love story. How it was so, what it meant, he still wasn't sure. But he couldn't tell her that and make things worse for her with his doubts and fears. No, he had to keep running his fingers through her hair, hoping it would be of comfort, and wait for her to calm down.

"I know," she whispered. "I mean, that's what's so…" she sniffled, wiped her nose with the balled up tissue and threw it away. "Overwhelming. I know it now that this, you, _us_ , it's real. It's really happening, as perfectly as I could have imagined it and I'll never have to fear anymore."

He stopped his caress and frowned. "What?"

Only then did she look up and he saw the spark behind the remnants of tears, the fleeting smile on her trembling lips. "Jordan," she whispered, "we're finally complete. I can feel it. We'll never have to go through this pain again. Not in this life, or any other that will come."

She smiled more broadly, planted a kiss on his lips and turned around swiftly. He couldn't move, still stunned by her speech that sounded so confident when he'd thought she was anything but that.

He still had much to learn about Lydia Martin, apparently.

He heard her let out a long, comfortable sigh and her hand reached behind her. "We'll be okay, Jordan, come on."

He stared for one more second before deciding that questioning such a good thing was unwise and he slotted his body against her, revelling in the feeling of how right being with her was.

She was right. How she knew, or how it would be so, he didn't know, but she was right. They would be okay.

…

His index finger was drawing light patterns on her skin, barely perceptible touches. She buried her face in the pillow in a vain hope to muffle the purr she wanted to let out. He chased the tiny beads of sweat along her spine and she felt a few kisses between her shoulder blades, the prelude to a question, as it turned out.

"You never told me about the dreams, back then. We had so many nights together, so many opportunities to discuss this, not stick to my problem. Why didn't you say something?"

There wasn't any reproach in his voice, to her relief. "You didn't tell me either," she said in the same tone. "But I couldn't, for the same reason as you, I guess: I didn't even know what to make of them. They were so horrible, but it's not like I didn't have other, _regular_ nightmares as well. Then I figured they were something that came with being a banshee. Part of the package."

She turned around, swung a leg over him and straddled him. She grinned, sliding her palms up the smooth planes of his chest. It was surprisingly natural. Maybe surprising wasn't the right word; they were supposed to be this comfortable together, after all.

She looked down at him, with soft eyes. "I could never see you in them. I would see a guy, but his face was never clear. I just knew I loved him, that much was obvious."

She leaned forward, her hair falling off her shoulders and pooling on his chest. He smiled, gently parted the curls to get a good look at her and she'd never seen something so sweet and beautiful as his face right then. "It was a bunch of endearing and infuriating moments that didn't make much sense. Then always death. Your death, and it kept ripping me apart." She sighed and splayed her palms on his pecs, taking in the warmth and incredibly reassuring thumping of his heart under her hands. "I don't know which was worse," she continued in a whisper, "knowing this kind of love wasn't real or knowing it was always going to be taken away from me, even if it would just be in a dream."

She cupped his cheek tenderly. It helped convey her words, ground her meaning. "I had no idea I could escape both outcomes. But then you started describing your dreams and it filled in all the blanks. You were my answer, just as much as I was yours. You had all the missing pieces."

Her smile grew wider, more brilliant. "Plus we will never lose each other. Not anymore, not with our powers realized. We'll always find each other, no matter where or when."

He shifted underneath her, his hands on her hips, pulled her higher until she was perfectly encasing his waist with her thighs. "The puzzle is solved then." He paused and looked at his hands on her. "You and I fit, you know."

"I do know." She ground down on him, her smile turning wicked. "You're not hiding it very well."

"There's nothing to hide anymore."

She scoffed, brushed her lips across his jaw, an achingly slow caress until she claimed his mouth with a hungry kiss. She could already feel the heat flare up inside of her, the need to be one with him again. "That's true. Nothing to hide, nothing to keep us apart. Nothing to stop us."

His hands, light and reverent, hiked up, leaving a warm trail on her sides and stopping on her breasts. She let out a heated breath, throwing her head back. "You want?" she heard him ask and looking down she saw him blush adorably. Even after all they just did.

"Yes. Again and always," she whispered, covering his hands with hers.

…

Hours later, finally sated and exhausted, they remained tangled in the sheets and each other, in precious silence. Only when the dawn chorus started did Jordan feel he could break the peace of the moment.

"It doesn't bother you? The whole..." He waved a hand in the air as if he could catch the right word, instead she twined their fingers and brought it down.

"Predestined thing?" she completed, brushing her lips across his knuckles. She grinned. Even his hand smelled familiar and comforting. Every inch of him felt, tasted and smelled like home, wrapped around her.

"Yeah. Do you feel like... you _have_ to be here, with me?"

She shook her head, slowly. "Not at all. It's more like...a confirmation." She wiggled down the bed, down to that perfect spot along his body where she fit so well. "It proved to me that I was right, falling for you. And I love being right."

He breathed out a little chuckle, not bothering to hide the relief in it. "And I love _you_ ," he told the curve of her neck.

"I love that too. And you. Always you."

They closed their eyes, just as the rising sun was starting to clear up the sky. They had time, all the time in the world, to get back to reality. For the moment the cabin suited them. They wanted to rest, in that perfect peace of their newfound home and heaven, each other's arms. _Where_ that home was set was irrelevant.

After all, after everything, they were _them_. The banshee and the phoenix, together; an indestructible combination. It wasn't vindication. No, it was an accomplishment. And only the beginning.


End file.
